


Experts Suggest Dying a Hero

by thought



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Future Fic, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 03:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14865620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thought/pseuds/thought
Summary: At what point does this go from canonizing your own political history to the setup for a tragedy?





	Experts Suggest Dying a Hero

The emperor of Xing doesn't die.

The emperor of Xing is 100 years old, impossibly young, a man just grown from childhood, soft skin and thick hair and limbs that bend like hot metal and muscle just as strong.

The emperor of Xing doesn't age. The emperor of Xing is nothing more than a clever mechanical illusion. The emperor of Xing has been a series of identical men, replacement upon replacement. The emperor of Xing is a demon, something that smiles like candy and kills like the casual swish of a pen at the bottom of a page. The emperor is a different story depending who you ask.

The story that remains the same, however, is this: Xing has flourished under the emperor’s rule. Class differences begin to fade away. Wealth and resources are distributed equally. No child goes hungry. No child is born with the weight of impossible expectation at their back.

The emperor is never seen alone. Some say the two guards that flank him are just as ageless as the emperor himself.

The woman, no older than the emperor (so no telling, really) with the hard eyes and the smile that lingers at her mouth like the tips of the blades that glint from beneath her sleeves. That smile knows things. Those eyes know even more. Everyone knows you do not speak of treason, even when you are certain you are alone.

The man who looks Amestrian but is something else entirely. His hands never stay still, the lazy arrogance of each head tilt and slouching lean doing nothing to hide the danger just beneath his skin. And what is his skin? Soft, fragile beneath the emperor's hands. Sparking red and bright at the touch of a blade. Cold and hard and something other than flesh against the unexpected flare of a bullet.

There are stories about the guards, too. Her hands are made of metal, ready to crush bone as easily as lifting a teacup. She is everywhere and nowhere at all times, watching and listening and killing before you notice anything's wrong. His eyes almost seem like they're glowing when he's angry. His hands become claws. He has torn the throats from men and laid their warm bodies at the emperor's feet as easy as the irreverent quips that slip out when the energy beneath his skin seems too close to the surface to be contained.

The grandmothers and grandfathers say the royal guards used to be masked, but the idea of those two faces, practically part of the emperor, being hidden, strikes most people as ridiculous. The emperor and his guards do not hold shame or fear. They are confident. No one has injured the Emperor in twenty years. Eventually, no one will remember why they might want to.

The other stories are more intimate, shared in whispers and rumour only. Pass the private rooms of the palace late enough at night and you might hear laughter, bright and playful; three voices raised in enthusiastic debate or snarling anger. One might think the guards are permitted to tease and challenge and rage at the emperor like equals, and be proven right nine times out of ten. But spend long enough in the palace and it's not unheard-of to see one or both guards on their knees, throats bared, words of loyalty and devotion on their lips. Often it is performative for one political display or another, but on occasion it is private

The emperor smiles like he knows he has earned this, like he knows this is his right. Like he knows he possesses the most valuable treasures the world has to offer and he understands in return he must always be unquestionably worthy of them. And then, if one were to be close enough to hear, one might catch his murmured promises. "Me too. I feel the same for you. I would do the same for you, if I were able."

The rest of the world gets stories, but between the three of them there are only truths. No lies, not anymore. Not to each other.

"I would die for you";

"I would burn the world to the ground for you”;

"We are yours, and you are ours, and this means we are loyal to you above all others"; and

"I know. I would say the same if I could." Because an Emperor who does not hold his country above everything in his heart is no emperor at all and they do not tell lies, not to each other.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://thought-42.tumblr.com), where you can watch me descend further into FMA hell


End file.
